“She gave him the baby and he cut the baby’s head off.”
In some ways, the soldier cut off his own head. In some ways, he cut off mine.
Years after the attack, I want superpowers. In dreams I skew time, take the baby from the soldier, cut off the soldier’s head with my free hand, turn his face to let him watch his own death, stem the blood flow from his neck, let him rewind his own guilt endlessly over the story that never played, the baby that was saved, the life that was never taken, yet still lost.